


Opia

by Tibbins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s14e02 Gods and Monsters, Episode: s14e03 The Scar, Fluff and Angst, Love Confession, M/M, Pining, Struggling Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibbins/pseuds/Tibbins
Summary: Opia: The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable. This is something that Dean and Cas have been known to share.





	Opia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So this is a piece I've had in the works for a while but my life has been pretty hectic lately and I haven't really been able to fully concentrate on writing.
> 
> Today was my nan's funeral and afterwards everything felt a lot calmer, so I thought now might be the time to wrap this up.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

"Do you think he'd want it any other way?" Jack demanded. They stared at each other for a few seconds; Jack with an angry set to his jaw, Castiel unable to move until Jack seemed to think he had made his point and turned away to head back over to the library, leaving Castiel with those words echoing around his skull, made even worse by the fact that his answer was immediate and wrenched at his gut.

No. Of  _course_  Dean wouldn't want to be saved if that meant they couldn't stop Michael. Of  _course_  he would insist on being the sacrifice to save everyone else. There was no doubt whatsoever in his mind that Dean would agree with Jack's assessment on things one hundred percent. But that didn't make hearing it any easier.

Michael was dangerous; possibly the most powerful being currently in this universe since God and Amara left. He was a threat and he was dropping bodies in Duluth and he had already turned one world into a wasteland.

They'd killed for less.

That was the thought that really dug its claws into the meat of his guilt. They had murdered innocent people possessed by angels and demons enchantments without hesitation in order to save others; or, as seemed to have been the case for years now, because it was less convenient than taking the time to rattle off an exorcism or an angel-banishing spell. Somewhere along the way they had come to see those people as the disposable meat suits that the beings hijacking their will did. It was so much easier to consider everyone with black eyes or an angel blade or a set of fangs as a monster, but when it was one of  _them_ , when it was someone they cared about, they remembered that that wasn't the case and parroted the old line that they were in the business of saving people.

What made Dean more worthy of saving than any one of the millions that would die if they didn't stop Michael? Those people had families too, people who loved them. They may not be hunters, they may not have saved the world, they may not protect people from the things that moved in the dark but they had jobs, they had friends, they had their own stream of moments that made up a life and who was he to deem even one of them as less important than Dean?

He couldn't think of a reason that justified it, not one, but to him it didn't matter. He knew that he could kill a dozen innocent people to save Dean and be unable to truly regret it. He knew that he could let Michael walk free if it meant that Dean was safe. He could, easily. But he also knew that he wouldn't because Jack was right, Dean wouldn't want him to. And somehow, that mattered more to Castiel than his own need to see Dean again.

Castiel ran his hands through his hair and back down over his face. Jack had seemingly returned to the book he'd been reading before their conversation, but he could feel the nephilim's eyes flick to him every few seconds as Jack probably tried to work out which way his thoughts were tipping.

On the other side of the scale, there was also Sam to consider. He was coping without his brother  _now_ , but only because he was able to hold onto the drive of getting him back. Castiel knew that Sam  _could_  go on without Dean, just watching the way he had stepped up to lead in the past few weeks was testament to that. Sam was a strong leader, an excellent role-model, a seasoned warrior and a good man, but without Dean to take the edge off the constant responsibility he was struggling. Dean was the only person that Sam could truly relax around. He was comfortable around Castiel and Mary but Castiel had never been able to make him laugh so hard he doubled over, tears streaming down his face; Mary hadn't yet learned the subtle differences between his silences and sometimes she spoke when words weren't needed. Neither of them could possibly understand Sam the way that Dean did and Sam had a whole bunker full of people who needed guidance and leadership and tutelage. Shouldn't that be a factor? Sam needed his brother, the refugees from Apocalypse World needed Sam, so getting Dean back would help them all, right?

And Dean was a damn good hunter. He had saved not only the world but hundreds of individuals over the years, surely that counted for something. Or was Castiel just trying to paper over the sick feeling in his stomach that burned like acid when he thought about living on without Dean? These past ten years had been barely a few milliseconds in the span of his life but they were undoubtedly the most important. Dean had changed everything for him and after a long series of harsh lessons, now that he was just starting to remember what it felt like to be sure of himself and what that  _meant_ , Castiel knew that he wasn't ready to lose him.

Logically, he should agree with Jack, but every molecule in his body was screaming that Dean deserved better, although whether that was out of pure selfishness or not he couldn't tell. The line between Dean's well-being and his own was blurred, as much as he hated it, as much as he knew that it affected his judgement, as much as he knew that he was capable of living without Dean. He just didn't want to.

"No," he said, so quietly that he wasn't sure Jack would be able to hear him without his grace-powered hearing, "no," he repeated, louder.

Jack nodded, turning to him in his chair, his expression grim, as though he knew what it cost Castiel to say the word. But he didn't. There was no possible way that he could.

"So you agree?"

"I agree," Castiel said slowly, "if it comes down to him or Michael, Dean would want us to get the son of a bitch."

"So..."

"So," Castiel said, standing to walk up the steps to the library and standing in the doorway, "I will do everything in my power to make sure that it doesn't come to that. We  _will_ stop Michael, but I won't step over Dean's corpse to do it. I won't. We need him here. Sam needs him, I need him."

Jack's expression darkened and he stood too, walking forward a few paces to lean against the corner of the table, arms folded, "I understand that this is hard-" Jack began in the kind of reasonable tone that he himself had used on Dean many times, only now did he understand how infuriating it was.

"No," Castiel said, "you don't. You can't. Everything that we have been through together… it can't end like this. I won't lose him like this because if I do, then it's just too cruel. If I was going to lose him to Michael anyway, why couldn't it have happened then? Before I understood him, before I fell, before I loved him."

Jack blinked, frowning, "You-"

"Yes, Jack," Castiel cut him off with a small, sad smile as his eyes swept the room, the shelves of books, the shadows of memories, "I love him. I love him in a way I never thought possible. I love him in a way that is considered an abomination among my kind, although after meeting God I doubt very much that He would care. And I know that my loving him doesn't change the circumstances and it won't get him back, but it's part of the reason I  _can't_  give up. Also because if there's one thing that I know about Dean Winchester, it's that you should never underestimate him."

Jack considered him for a few moments before breaking the eye contact and looking down, "I'm sorry, Cas," he said, sounding truly regretful, "but that doesn't get rid of Michael. This is about more than just Dean."

"Not to me," Castiel said firmly, even as the admission twisted at his gut, "and I know what that makes me. But I also know that Dean would do the same for any of us and like I said, there are worse things than being kind."

Jack scoffed, "Dean is many things, Castiel, and a lot of them good, but  _kind_ isn't one."

Castiel frowned, remembering the care Dean had shown him when he was under the attack dog spell, the way he beamed when someone ate his food and enjoyed it, the way he treated children with respect rather than looking past them as many adults did, the gentle touches and jokes he would make to lighten even the darkest of moods.

"You're wrong."

"He wanted to kill me as soon as he saw me!"

"I wanted to kill you as soon as I learned of your existence too," Castiel pointed out, "but that changed when I understood better. It just took Dean longer to trust you. He called you family, Jack. And if you know anything about him, by now you should know that he values family above everything. I'm not saying that he's perfect, and I'm not saying that he's never unkind. But there is so much more good in him than there is bad and it's just very surprising to me that you can't see it."

"I know he's good, Castiel," Jack said impatiently, standing up fully now, he began to pace the width of the room, agitated, "and if there was a way to save him that we  _knew_  would work without putting the world at risk I'd be all for it. But there isn't, and no one else seems to want to accept it."

Castiel sighed heavily, "We have to try, Jack," he said quietly, "if for no other reason than to know that we did. Otherwise, how could we live with ourselves?"

Jack seemed to have nothing to say to that, but at that moment Castiel's phone let out its tinny melody, causing both of them to jump. Castiel pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, 'Sam'.

It felt like all of his blood drained to his feet at the same time his heart leapt. Feeling somewhat nauseous, he swiped at the screen and held the phone to his ear.

"Sam?"

"We've got him," Sam's voice was quiet and it wobbled as though he couldn't quite believe it, "he's okay."

Castiel let out a sound that was pure relief and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He felt his knees actually tremble and Jack stepped forward, looking concerned. Castiel held up a hand to him, asking him to wait as he turned his head to the side in a strange show of privacy. He had picked up some strange human habits over the years.

"You managed to extract Michael?"

Jack's eyes widened.

"No," Sam said grimly, "Michael was gone by the time we got there. Dean said he just left, he doesn't know why."

Castiel frowned, "Can I speak to him?" He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. Judging by the sympathy on Jack's face, he failed.

"He's asleep." Sam said, though he sounded apologetic, "Sorry, Cas, he looks like he's been through hell, I don't wanna wake him up."

Castiel nodded, disappointed.

"Of course, I understand."

"We'll be home in about three hours," Sam said gently, "can you tell Jack? And... Cas?"

"Yeah?"

"I know that there's a problem here somewhere," Sam said, lowering his voice even further so that even his enhanced hearing struggled "I know that Michael wouldn't just  _leave,_ but can we worry about that later and just enjoy the fact that Dean's in the back seat right now?"

Castiel felt the smile break over his face, "I'm not worried," he said, and he said it so firmly that he almost believed it, "as long as he's safe. Thank you for calling, Sam. And thank you for-"

"Yeah," Sam said, swallowing, "no problem, Cas. See you in a few."

"Bye, Sam."

The call ended and Castiel placed the phone down on the table with a soft clunk.

"He's alright?" Jack asked, hopeful.

"As alright as we could have expected I think," Castiel said. His voice sounded far away.

 

_Dean's alive. He's alive and he's coming home._

 

As Castiel recounted his conversation with Sam, Jack's eyes darkened, "So this has to be a trap or something, right? Michael wouldn't just let Dean  _go_."

"Maybe, maybe not," Castiel said, "honestly, Jack, I don't care. We've got Dean back," his words ended in a breathy laugh that was a sound he wasn't sure he'd ever made before.

"This is a good thing," Jack said slowly, "just… just be careful, okay? Michael's smart."

"Yes," Castiel said, shaking himself and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, and echoing Sam's plea, "you're right, I know you're right. But we can make a plan tomorrow. For now, can we just enjoy this?"

Jack hesitated, but whatever he saw in Castiel's face had him nodding and his face softened.

"I'm glad he's okay."

"Thank you, Jack. And… and I'm sorry about before."

"Me too," Jack said, "I didn't mean it to sound like I don't care about him."

"I know. You're just trying to be practical. But when it comes to Sam and Dean, rationality takes a backseat."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

Castiel laughed, feeling almost giddy. "Well, we've got about three hours for you to decide what take-out we should get tonight."

"Pizza." Jack said immediately.

Castiel raised an eyebrow, Jack usually took forever to choose what he wanted to eat, he was constantly torn between wanting to try everything new and sticking with his old favourites. "That was fast."

"It'll take me longer to choose the toppings."

Castiel laughed again and flung an arm around the boy's shoulders, guiding him towards the kitchen where there was an entire drawer stuffed full of take-out menus.

 

***

 

Castiel spent the next few hours trying to busy himself without actually being busy, he made coffee, he ordered the pizza, he flitted around the bunker, making inane chatter with the new residents, all the while trying not to act like he was just waiting for the time to pass.

It seemed to take an eternity but eventually, Castiel heard him from across the war room.

"Yeah, not Michael anymore."

It didn't fall silent or anything, everyone was too busy, too distracted. He realised suddenly that he had heard Dean's voice before that statement, coming down the corridor from the direction of the garage but he hadn't registered it, because to him it was so ingrained into the very bricks of the bunker. But as soon as it rang out, loud with an edge of defensive, Castiel's head jerked up from a map that Maggie was showing him and his eyes zeroed in on Sam, exhausted but happier than he had been in weeks. His eyes slid over to the man next to him, his sandy hair gelled strangely—though it looked like he'd run his hand through it several times to muss it back into spikes—and his heart stuttered. Dean, looking tense and overwhelmed in a tailored waistcoat and shirt that looked good but didn't suit him. For a few moments, all Castiel could do was stare. Dean was back, he was  _here,_ he was safe. Jack had pushed his way over and almost without realising, Castiel found himself moving too, a strange half-jog that he couldn't control, his eyes never leaving Dean, even as Jack reached him first.

His chest was tight as he approached, his breathing stilted, and all the things he wanted to say threatened to tumble from his throat as Dean met his eyes and took a half-step back, his eyes creasing into one of those rare, genuine smiles that never failed to make something comfortable and warm settle somewhere in Castiel's ribcage. Then, Jack was walking forward for a hug and the connection broke for a brief moment before Dean's eyes flicked back to his.

"Dean," he said, less as a greeting and more because he needed to hear the name roll from his tongue without the stab of uncertainty that had been accompanying it since Dean said yes.

"Cas," his name echoed back, and the familiarity of it was both calming and disappointing. He knew this ritual, the initiation of a series of verbal exchanges that would determine the level of worry they would experience for each other after a prolonged absence.

"I'm sorry, I wanted to be there but we feared that Michael would sense my presence so-" Dean cut him off by looking away and bobbing his head in the way he did when he wanted the other person to stop talking but didn't want to say so. Castiel felt it too, it wasn't as though the words weren't  _true_ , they just didn't feel  _necessary_. He just wanted Dean to lock eyes with him, he wanted to stare until time stopped, stripping each other down to the wire and adding a current. They shared that sometimes, when Dean needed grounding. Castiel liked to think that they were comfortable enough around each other that moments like that weren't invasive, but then again, that was part of the appeal, exposing yourself to another person—especially one you cared deeply for—was as terrifying as it was liberating. Dean's eyes darted around the room, from him to Jack to the survivors from Apocalypse World and back again; it was a fleeting thing, but it was enough to remind Castiel that they weren't alone, and Dean would be uncomfortable with what he called the 'freakish staring' when they had an audience.

"-Sam told me," Dean was saying, almost dismissive, though his eyes were still crinkled, "ain't no thing."

Castiel smiled, he seemed unable to stop himself from smiling. Just the fact that Dean was here was a wonder he hadn't dared to hope for. He refused to think about the fact that this might be a trap. There was no trace of Michael left in Dean as far as Castiel could tell (and he was examining  _very_  thoroughly), but Sam had been right on the phone, it was naive to assume that Michael had left his sword without good reason and as Dean excused himself to shower, Castiel's smile fell. There was a cold spot in the room without Dean now, and his worries hit him like a truck, though Dean had pointed towards Castiel before he left, indicating that they would talk later.

 

***

 

Castiel waited what he considered to be an appropriate amount of time for Dean to shower and dress and take some time to re-adjust to his new-old surroundings before approaching the door to his room and raising a fist to knock on the dark wood. The sound echoed ominously through the tiles of the empty corridor and he felt suddenly like an intruder.

"What?" Came Dean's voice from inside over the gush of running water,

"It's me." Castiel said, taken-aback by the aggressive tone, hoping that he hadn't misinterpreted that gesture in the war room.

"Oh, right. Gimme a sec,"

Castiel waited, listening to the sounds of switches being flipped and what sounded like cloth being flung about. He was grateful no one else was around, him standing awkwardly at Dean's door definitely would have started rumours that Dean was in no way ready to deal with.

Eventually, Dean opened the door, smiling a fake smile and stepped aside to wave Castiel in. The lights were all on, Michael's clothing was crumpled in a corner on the floor, the bathroom door spilled steam from where it was slightly ajar and a discarded towel hung on the radiator.

"You didn't shower?" Castiel asked, turning to Deans as he closed the door behind him. Dean's eyes widened,

"What?" He gestured to the bathroom and the towel, "How'd you figure? Do I smell?"

"That towel is completely dry," Castiel pointed out, "and you said you were going to clean up two hours ago, Dean, any steam would have dissipated by now. Why did you want it to look like you showered? Also, you only just turned the lights on in here, were you sitting in the dark?"

"No," Dean said defensively, crossing his arms across his chest. He wore soft grey sweatpants and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and looked a lot more like himself than he had in Michael's crisp shirt and pants, "and I  _did_  shower."

"No, you didn't," Castiel said, frowning, "and you were. Why are you lying to me?"

"What are you, the Spanish inquisition? Why do you care?" Dean dropped onto the bed with a practised air of nonchalance that Castiel did not buy.

"Because you said you were fine."

"I  _am_  fine."

"I don't understand how you could be."

Dean's face snapped shut, the way it did when he was meticulously reinforcing his walls, not because he didn't want to talk but because he was terrified of what he would say.

"What do you want from me?" Dean snapped, "Do you want me to tell you how much it sucked? You've been possessed by an archangel, you know what it's like."

"My experience was different from yours. I said yes to Lucifer willingly and he mostly left me alone because I didn't fight him. Michael twisted your consent and had more reason to be cruel. And I know you, and I am certain that you fought him every step of the way."

Dean was quiet for a long time but his hands, which had been clenched tightly in his lap, relaxed a little, though there was a slight tremble to his shoulders. Castiel stepped forward, wanting to reach out, to offer whatever meagre comfort he could, but Dean didn't like to be touched when he was hurting. Right now, he was more likely to see it as an act of pity rather than a gesture of aid.

"He kept me underwater," Dean said eventually, his voice was so small and child-like that Castiel felt his heart break, "I couldn't breathe and I forgot that I didn't need to, I guess. Sometimes I'd get flashes, hear things and feel things from what seemed like so far away; screams that I probably caused, the weight of wings on my back. Nothing  _useful,_ nothing about his plans or what he wanted. I felt my hands heavy with blood, I saw terror in the eyes of those I- _he_  killed. I remember that look, it was the same one I got in Hell. I managed to surface once or twice, got the chance to tell him to get out. But he didn't. I wasn't strong enough to push him out and his word, my  _consent,_  meant nothing."

"Oh, Dean." Castiel said, kneeling in front of the tortured man and dipping his head to catch his eyes; they were shiny with unshed tears, haunted, but they held his own, desperate and broken and Castiel hoped more than anything that he could be trusted with Dean's jagged pieces, "It wasn't your fault. None of it. You said it yourself, you didn't have a choice in saying yes to Michael. You did what was right in the moment, you made the only choice that you could live with and it's  _over_  now."

Dean blinked but didn't break the eye contact, it was like he was searching for something inside of Castiel, something that would either give him what he needed to get through this or something that would leave him unwilling to try. Castiel said nothing further. He didn't know how long he knelt in front of the human he would give his life for, the human he had given his heart to, hoping that Dean could see all the good he saw reflected back at him. A tear slid down a freckled cheek but neither of them moved to brush it away. Castiel understood. It was a terrifying moment of frozen time, he felt like Dean was searching every inch of him, every shadowed corner was thrown into sharp relief; every mistake, every unkind act, every harsh word was dragged under a spotlight, the moments suppressed and ignored and quickly forgiven and forgotten were being re-examined under a microscope and it was almost painful. Just as he saw the same open fear in Dean's eyes, the hope that Castiel could help him, the hurt and the self-loathing for what he had done and for what Michael had done  _using_  him.

And then something shifted.

"Okay," Dean said, in a voice as raw as though he'd been screaming.

And Castiel knew that it was, that  _Dean_  was. Whatever Castiel had shown him had been enough. So he stood, told Dean goodnight, and left, because there was nothing else to say.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think? I had kinda a lot of ideas I tried to smoosh into this and I'm not sure it worked so well, and I know the ending was quite abrupt but that was part of the point I guess.
> 
> All feedback is welcome and treasured.
> 
> If you would like to, feel free to come find me [on my tumblr](https://tibbinswrites.tumblr.com/), I love talking to you guys!
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


End file.
